Strong and
self-assured, Jeremiah is the closest thing his mage kinfolk have to an alpha.
He takes his responsibilities seriously, which hasn’t left time for much of
anything, and it’s about to get worse. Mages are in trouble. A few signed on
with vampires, causing human deaths. Because of them, all mages are being
smeared with the traitor brush.

Renee’s eagle
bondmate jerks her awake one night with the terse message a cave lion, one of
the most ancient of the animals, has bonded. According to the bird, they have
to drop everything and go to Colorado. Reluctant to weave the fabric of lies
she’ll need to cover her absence, she finally gives in.

She’s horrified
to discover the lion bonded with a man who used to be a mage. A mage. The
rogues who joined up with vampires. She wants to hate Jeremiah, but it’s a
tough sell. Not only is he gorgeous, he’s smart and kind and funny. None of it
matters, though, because he doesn’t like her, either.

For long
moments, nothing happened. The odd pressure in his chest and lungs loosened. He
was close to deciding the whole thing was exactly what he’d suspected, a nexus
where shifter magic was doing battle with his brand of power, when searing heat
started in the soles of his feet, moving upward in an inexorable tide of pain.
Pins and needles ceded to knives. The wounds the eagle shifter had carved
reopened, wetting his sides with bloody fluid.

He threw wards
around himself, but the pain increased by a factor of a hundred until he felt
like the skin was being flayed from his bones.

“Do not fight me!” blasted through
his mind.

“Who are you?”
Jeremiah shouted, but his mouth didn’t work right, and the words came out
garbled. He dropped his warding because he hurt so much he couldn’t hang onto
the magic.

An anguished
screech shot from his mouth, followed by two more. He wasn’t a coward but
traveling through the nine circles of Hell couldn’t hurt this much. White-hot
blasts seared him from all sides.

Panting,
gasping, he took a breath into lungs that had forgotten how to cooperate. The
world smelled different, each scent individual and intense. It was as if he’d
never smelled anything before, and he sucked air hungrily, sampling the rich
variety. Who would have guessed rocks had a smell? Or that different types of
bird shit each had their own tang?

The pain
receded. At first, he thought it was because he had something else to focus on,
but it really was lessening.

A strident rip
from his jacket, and then another from his shirt, forced reluctant
understanding. A glance downward solidified his knowledge. He was shifting—into
the lion. Never mind it was impossible. It was happening anyway. Exultation did
battle with fear.

“Wait.” He switched to
telepathy and fought with limbs that were half human, half feline to divest
himself of what was left of his clothes.

He saved his
trousers but did a less effective job with his shirt. His jacket had already
split down the back. All through his struggles, the realization he wasn’t human
any longer rocketed through him, heady as a rare vintage wine.

I’m shifting. I’m shifting. I’m shifting.

The words
repeated like a tape loop obliterating everything else.

“So you want to be a bird, do you?” The lion’s words were lined with derision. “I was going to give you more time, but your bird fixation was so
egregious I couldn’t let it slide.”

Jeremiah was too
overcome to craft an answer. The cavalcade of smells intensified. His vision
changed, the visual field wider and deeper, but with less fine detail. Bones
stretched and reformed. Fur sprouted, covering bare skin.

He’d frozen in
place once his battles with his clothing ended. What was left of the pain
ceased abruptly, and he forced one paw forward, followed by another. He swished
his tail, liked how it felt, and did it again. Before he knew it, he’d bounded
to the end of the main cavern and back again, the movement easy, effortless.

He sat back on
his haunches and launched himself upward in an experimental leap that carried
him fifteen feet into the air. This time the roar that shook the old mineshaft
was all him. A low, rumbling purr followed…

Steamy excerpt:

She leaned
closer, near enough their bodies were almost touching. Heat from him eddied
between them, and his scent—the one that had snared her earlier—returned with
full force. Vanilla, rosemary, and freshly wet forest surrounded her, thick
enough to eat.

“Maybe we don’t
need words,” she murmured, suddenly shy but unable to look away from his
amazing eyes. Up close like this, silvery flecks floated around the irises,
making them shine.

“Perhaps not,
but if you don’t leave, I’m going to kiss you. I didn’t come in here for food
or drink. I came here for you.”

Excitement shot
from the soles of her feet up over the top of her head. He wanted her. Nothing
shy of a tsunami could have dragged her from the kitchen, and maybe not even
that. She turned her mouth upward, and he covered it with his. His chiseled
lips felt just as enticing as she’d imagined they would. The first kiss was
gentle. Too gentle.

She wrapped her
arms around him and pressed her body the full length of his. He’d feel her
pebbled nipples, but the time to be ashamed of her arousal was past. The length
of him, hard, hot, and thick, pressed into her belly, and the evidence of his
hunger thrilled her. She wanted to reach between them, wrap her hands around
his cock, followed by her mouth. Imagining how his girth would stretch her fed
her excitement, not that it needed encouragement.

He upped the
ante on their kiss, which had turned more urgent and demanding. She opened her
mouth to his questing tongue and sparred with it. He tasted sweet and hot, and
she couldn’t get enough of his mouth. They traded bites, kisses, and suckles.
She bit and sealed each spot with kisses before biting again. He teased her
mouth with his tongue, driving it inside and then withdrawing in a simulation
of sex that stoked her lust.

He made a decidedly
male sound and thrust his erection into her belly. Heat and need roared through
her, and she straddled one of his legs, pressing her engorged nub against the
firm muscles of his thigh. He grasped her ass and jammed his leg firmly between
hers.

She writhed
against him, desperate for contact, for release. If his mouth hadn’t been glued
against hers, she would have screamed as a climax shot through her, spun her
around, and spat her out.

He ripped his
mouth from hers, scooped an arm beneath her knees, and carried her out of the
kitchen and down the darkened hallway to a staircase she wasn’t familiar with.
Narrow and winding, it led upward. She twined her arms around his neck, hanging
on.

“I can walk,”
she managed, her breathing still running triple time.

“Not a chance.
I’m not letting you get away.”

About the Author

Ann Gimpel is a USA Today bestselling author. A lifelong aficionado of
the unusual, she began writing speculative fiction a few years ago. Since then
her short fiction has appeared in several webzines and anthologies. Her longer
books run the gamut from urban fantasy to paranormalromance.
Once upon a time, she nurtured clients. Now she nurtures dark, gritty fantasy stories
that push hard against reality. When she’s not writing, she’s in the backcountry
getting down and dirty with her camera. She’s published over fifty books to
date, with several more planned for 2018 and beyond. A husband, grown children,
grandchildren, and wolf hybrids round out her family.

Keep up with her at www.anngimpel.com or http://anngimpel.blogspot.com

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